


chamomile tea

by katikat



Category: Crush (2013)
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat
Summary: of nightmares and chess games and chamomile tea… (Unbeta'd)





	chamomile tea

… and then there are the nightmares, ugly and terrifying, about locked rooms and whispering bedsheets and pain that never seems to end, nightmares that steal Scott’s sleep and his peace, and they make it so very hard to stay there, in bed, because it’s all too much like in his memories, the softness of his pillow and the warm glow of his bedside lamp, they chase him out, away, away,  _away_  from those reminders of past things he would rather forget…

… and he stumbles out of his room and down the stairs, without his cane, he leaves it behind, its  _tock-tock-tocking_ too loud on the hardwood steps, he doesn’t want to wake his father, after all, his dad’s doing so much already, he needs the sleep, he needs to go to work in the morning, and so Scott moves on silent feet, as silent as he can be these days, with a knee that never stops hurting…

… and he hobbles into the kitchen, leaning heavily against the doorway and the wall and the kitchen counter, and he doesn’t switch on any lights, no, he just sits down at the table, his injured leg stretched out to one side, no relief there, it’s a constant, throbbing reminder of bad,  _bad_ things, and he drops his elbows onto the table and covers his mouth with his hands, to keep it all in, to stop those dark, overwhelming emotions from spilling out…

… and then the light switches on, after all, because his father heard, after all, because he’s always listening these days, listening like he’s never,  _ever_  listened before, and he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t stare at Scott with his strangled breaths and his red-rimmed eyes, he just pulls up a chair and brings in a pillow and he picks up Scott’s leg to prop it up, to elevate it, to ease his pain…

… and then he makes Scott chamomile tea -  _chamomile tea!_  - and he squeezes his shoulder warmly and then, still without saying a word, he sits down opposite him, at the table, and pulls their very new chess set close - they didn’t want the old one, the stolen one, back, no, keep it, throw it away - and he makes the first move…

… and Scott makes the next one and they play like that until the tea’s gone and the darkness outside the windows is gone and there’s no need for artificial light, especially not for the soft glow that’s meant for bedrooms and  _intimate_ things, and only then does Scott allow himself to be led back up again, leaning against his father for support, only then does he give in to exhaustion, when his father pulls his curtains wide apart to let in the first stray rays of the upcoming dawn…

… and only then, after he ruffles Scott’s hair affectionately, does Scott’s father finally speak, saying softly, “sleep well,” and Scott does and this time, there are no nightmares, their ugliness chased away by the rising sun and his dad’s love and chamomile tea…


End file.
